


Back to the Wall

by sherlockian4evr



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Sherlock Holmes, Johnlock - Freeform, Loo sex, Love, M/M, Outdoor Sex, Spit As Lube, Top John Watson, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-18
Updated: 2015-10-18
Packaged: 2018-04-26 20:30:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5019373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlockian4evr/pseuds/sherlockian4evr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the prompt:</p><p>John has always been stronger than Sherlock and he loves how light and small Sherlock's frame is. This leads to John lifting Sherlock up against the wall for sex on more than one occasion.</p><p>Beta read by <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlock1110/pseuds/Sherlock1110">Sherlock1110.</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Back to the Wall

**Author's Note:**

> This is for a request from a friend. I hope that I delivered!

John had been watching him all night as Sherlock worked his way, sometimes flirting and sometimes coy, around the club. It was for a case, of course it was, but that didn't make it any easier for the good doctor to hang back in the shadows and pretend that it was of no matter to him, that they weren’t a couple, that the sight of his consulting detective in those slim-fitting black jeans, that white shirt and those heavy boots wasn’t driving him mad.

Sherlock had said that he needed two hours to determine the suspect’s guilt. It had been three long, torturous hours and John’s own jeans were fitting entirely too tight. He took out his phone and sent a text. From the shadows, the doctor watched as the genius pulled out his phone and read what was written on its screen. He pocketed it once again and within thirty seconds, he had extricated himself from his latest exchange and started towards the loo. The doctor waited two minutes and followed.

To John’s delight, Sherlock had already slipped off his boots and the more confining of his clothing. He was stood there, waiting for his lover, in only his white shirt and even that was unbuttoned and hanging on his slim form. John didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. Sherlock could read his aching need from his stance and the hungry look on his face. The doctor reached back and threw the bolt on the door, then he turned and stalked over to the waiting consulting detective and pressed him against the wall. Sherlock’s breath huffed out of him at the impact. It was an encouraging sort of huff, one that said “Please” and “Yes” and “Oh, God! Jawwn.”

Sliding his hands under Sherlock’s arse, John bent in and growled against the other man’s neck. Sherlock tipped his head back, exposing it more fully to the doctor’s attentions. In response, John nipped at it. He licked it, bit it, laved at it with his tongue. The doctor brought his hand up and pressed his fingers against the detective’s lips. Sherlock opened his mouth and sucked on the proffered fingers. He sucked on them, long and slow, fellating them gently. John pulled his hand back and his fingers left Sherlock’s mouth with a pop. Those wet fingers found their way back to his detective’s arse and to his hole. He stroked around Sherlock’s entrance and gently pushed inward, impaling him on his fingers. The detective moaned helplessly at the tight, stretching sensation and then he realised that he was being lifted in John’s strong arms.

**How does he hide those muscles under his jumper? They should bulge when he moves. Oh God! They’re certainly bulging now.**

John marvelled at the lithe body in his arms, the long slim legs that were wrapped around him and, oh, the pale chest that was peeking out where his shirt had fallen open. Sherlock was so light in his arms that the ex-army doctor could lift him up until he was positioned just right for John to take one nipple into his mouth and suck. At the same time, he lowered Sherlock back down to rest against his aching cock and slid in. The detective was warm and so deliciously tight. The way they moved together, Sherlock sliding up and down against the wall as John thrusted, was exquisite and all too soon, the doctor could feel the warmth of hot come at it splashed against his shirt. His lover cried out John’s name and that was all it took. The doctor pulsed his release into Sherlock and slowly let his mad genius slide back to the floor.

“I love you, you mad thing,” John said with an almost unbearable heat.

Sherlock shivered, completely wrung out and soul bared. “I… Yes. I’m sorry, John.”

The doctor laughed. “No need for sorry, but if I have to watch you like that again, I swear I’ll take you right there on the dance floor.” To John’s amusement, the detective didn’t look the least bit appalled.

* * *

This case had been reminiscent of The Hound of Baskerville in several ways. They had ventured out of London to a small town. There had been rumours of a werewolf terrorizing the countryside. There had been the reality of a very tame, very real wolf wandering free and an enterprising thief using it as a cover for his activities. There had also been the small room and single bed at the inn, but this time, there had been no awkwardness to be found. Instead, there had been laughter and warm gentle touching that lead to not-so-gentle lovemaking. Rather than slaking their desire, it only fuelled it. Which is how they ended up here in a grotto, after a long walk through the woods.

There was a pool of water and a waterfall. It was a warm, sunny day. Inevitably, that led to the two of them stripping of their clothes and swimming. There was much splashing and laughing at first, but things soon turned heated. John took Sherlock’s hand and led him from the pool of water. Despite what was shown in romantic movies, water didn’t make the best lube. In fact, it caused things to chafe. The doctor paused, then bent and pulled a bottle of lube from his jeans pocket. It always payed to be prepared.

Sherlock hugged John tightly from behind and nuzzled into his hairline. The doctor extricated himself and placed his arms on the detective’s shoulders. He nudged his knee between Sherlock’s legs and walked him backwards until he came up hard against the smooth bark of a broad tree. John pressed his broad, strong body against the detective’s tall, slim form, rubbing their cocks together between them. They were both so hard and Sherlock was already dripping. He so loved being manhandled by his army doctor!

“Fuck me, John,” Sherlock begged, his voice gone soft and needy and a blush creeping up his neck.

John had slicked his hand at some point. The detective was so lost to sensation that he hadn’t noticed when it happened. The doctor hiked up one of Sherlock’s legs and slid his hand back to his lover’s entrance. As he nudged his fingers against the tight opening, Sherlock brought his other leg up and wrapped it around John, locking his ankles together. The detective squirmed on John’s fingers, wanting to press downward on them and fuck himself, but he was at John’s mercy, held firmly in place. When the doctor pulled his hand away and replaced it with his cock, Sherlock cried out in joy. They were no longer two bodies, separate and individual, but one. They were a single organism, complete at last.

“So beautiful,” John moaned as Sherlock writhed.

The detective slipped a bit and the doctor hefted him higher, thrusting up into him simultaneously. At that moment, he found that spot. A few more thrusts against Sherlock’s prostate, and the sweating detective was crying out repeatedly, “Yes. Yes. Oh, Jawwn.”

This time, it was John who reached his climax first. His body went rigid and his strong hands clenched tightly on Sherlock’s arse. His legs didn’t go weak, however, and he still held his lover against the tree. It wouldn’t take much to tip Sherlock over the edge, so John dove in and licked at the pale chest in front of him.

“Come for me, Sherlock,” he urged and that was it. The detective came, splashing hot semen over them both. John let them both slide downward to the ground where they lay in a tangled heap.

* * *

John had been at a medical conference all week so Sherlock had been alone. Alone didn’t protect him, not anymore. Alone was hateful. Thankfully, the doctor had sent a text just a few minutes before and he would be walking into their flat at any moment. The detective was ready for him. He was wearing nothing but the blue dressing gown that John liked and he had already prepared himself in the most intimate of ways for the doctor’s return.

The downstairs door slammed and Sherlock’s breath hitched. He listened to John’s footsteps on the stairs. He could tell that the doctor was tired, but eager to be home. Sherlock waited, posing artfully in front of the fireplace. When the door to the flat opened, John looked around the room. When he spied his consulting detective, he dropped his bag with a gasp of longing.

“Come here, you,” John ordered and Sherlock moved towards him, casting his eyes down artfully as he blushed.

John kicked the door closed behind him, reached out a hand and pulled Sherlock against him. The doctor indulged himself by pulling the detective’s head down and sniffing his hair, lingering over the scent. The moment was broken by Sherlock’s slim fingers fumbling at his flies. The doctor was instantly aroused and offered no complaint as he was freed from the confines of his jeans and pants. He allowed the detective to stroke him for a moment, then John took the initiative and, before Sherlock knew it, lifted his detective in his arms.

It had been so long and John didn’t want to wait. He walked them to a wall and pressed Sherlock up against it, sliding his hand down to cup his lover’s arse. When he did, he felt the unmistakeable slickness of lube and he slid his fingers between Sherlock’s arse cheeks with delight.

“Oh, you dirty boy,” John said with admiration.

Sherlock grinned and said, “I didn’t want to wait.”

John huffed out a laugh then brought their lips together for a long kiss. It was heated and communicated all of the longing of the week before. Sherlock wriggled suggestively and the doctor knew what he wanted. He would give it to him.

Sherlock was already so slick and loose that John was able to slide in with one upward thrust. The little approving moan that Sherlock made drove the doctor to action. He thrust, he pounded and he impaled Sherlock over and over. They grew hot and slick with sweat. Sherlock’s dressing gown clung to them both. John used the edge of his face to slide it back from the detective’s chest and nibbled at the exposed flesh. The building heat coalesced and they both came, John slightly after Sherlock. Their groans of ecstasy were so loud, that Mrs. Hudson turned up her telly. Neither of them could be arsed to care.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to podfic or translate this or create a drawing based on it, go for it. Just please let me know and link back to my fic.
> 
> Follow me on [Tumblr.](http://shippingintothenight.tumblr.com)


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